Bitch, please!: Is it PMS, or is it just me?

Sometimes I just don't understand people. How is it that some people think that their time is more valuable than another person's time? How is it that people don't understand that when a store closes at 9, it is considered rude to make the employees stay an extra 20 minutes?

Your time and my time do not equal each other. Your extra 5 minutes of shopping can translate into me missing my bus, and waiting an extra 30 minutes in the cold, waiting for the next one to come. We don't all drive cars. And chances are, when you're dealing with an employee working retail at a minimum wage kind of job, that person can't afford a car. So think of that the next time you have that person wait up for you and your purchases.

But strangely enough, this delayed transaction was not the low point of my day. Granted, I was very tired thereafter, and may have ranted a bit, but what came after was uncalled for and unappreciated. My co-worker asked me a question about something I had forgotten to complete on one of the work computers. However she was standing in front of it, and wouldn't move. She wanted to finish this trivial activity. But it was going to take me longer to explain to her what to do than for me to do it myself, so I asked her to move and to let me do it. Now keep in mind, I'm super tired at this point, I've had a really long day in general. Our last customer retarded our close by 20 minutes. I want to catch my bus. I'm not thinking of talking in pleases and thank yous. So she blows up at me, telling me to stop talking to her like this, to stop talking down to her, to stop using this kind of language with her. Dude, it's 9:30 and I want to go home. Just let me do what I have to do. Ugh.

Then it hit me. PMS Saturday came early. Now, as much as I love this girl, her and I have the misfortune of PMS-ing at the same time. Consequently, every four weeks, her and I celebrate a very horrible monthly event, that I have dubbed "PMS Saturday". Now, I can't say that I even notice when I'm PMS-ing. Perhaps because my soul is covered in a thick shell of bitch that PMS-bitching and regular bitching differ so slightly that it's imperceptible. Or maybe I don't really PMS all that much. Regardless, PMS Saturday is a day to be feared. And tomorrow we have an audience of two other co-workers. And it's a sale day. I'm horrified.